


Apartment 3DA

by finishingthehat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Dramedy, F/M, Hijinks but also Angst, Modern Thedas, Roommates, Sitcom Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finishingthehat/pseuds/finishingthehat
Summary: Evelyn Trevelyan needs to escape. When she moves into Apartment 3DA, she doesn’t intend to stay, but her odd group of new roommates—Varric, Sera, Dorian, and Cullen—make leaving difficult.Part crime show, part sitcom, all Dragon Age.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Other pairings tba
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Apartment 3DA

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for ALL chapters for some graphic depictions of violence and self-harm (mostly within the context of blood magic).

The cashier at the gas station was looking at her suspiciously. Evelyn kept flipping through magazines, looking straight ahead and pretending not to notice. It must be an Orlesian thing, she reasoned. She didn’t know many Orlesians, but she’d heard people talk about how judgmental they were. That was Orlais, right? Fine wine, aged cheese, and judgment?

Or had the news gotten out already? Did they know, even here?

No. No, that was impossible, surely. She’d taken so many precautions. Still, Evelyn’s heart raced as she glanced toward the cashier. She’d have to make this quick.

She slipped into the bathroom, blinking a little as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights. Her head hurt. No—her neck? Her head. Maybe her stomach too. Something hurt. She looked in the mirror and realized why the cashier had been staring at her: she had blood splattered all over her shirt.

“Shit,” she muttered, licking her thumb and trying to rub the stain out. She had gotten so used to the smell of blood that she hadn’t even noticed it on her clothes. How long had it been there? Since the Frostbacks? Earlier? She’d been in her car for the last ten hours. She hadn’t exactly been checking out her outfit.

She wondered if the cashier had called the cops. Should she go out and explain the situation? _Sorry, ser, it’s not fresh. It’s probably been there for the last ten hours. And if it makes you feel better, I think it’s my own blood, but I can’t be sure._

In any case, she figured it would be best to get out of the station before she had to give that explanation to the police. Avoiding eye contact with the cashier, she slipped out of the bathroom and ran out to the car. Two bags in the backseat—there had to be a change of clothes somewhere. She grabbed the first shirt she saw, threw it over her head, and turned on the car and started driving. The front of the car scraped against the curb a little as she pulled out, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t really her car anyway.

She looked at the clock on the car dashboard. Ten minutes until her meeting with her potential new roommate. She laughed at the ridiculousness of it all and drove on toward Skyhold Tower.

Skyhold Tower didn’t quite live up to the sense of grandeur its name evoked. It was a medium-sized apartment complex, maybe four stories tall—hardly _towering_ —and it looked like it hadn’t been painted since the Blessed Age. Evelyn pressed the intercom button under the label that said 3DA and spoke into the speaker. “Hi. I’m Evelyn Trevelyan. I have a meeting with Varric Tethras about the empty room?”

A buzz, and the gate was unlocked. She headed through the gate and up the stairs toward the third floor, to the door at the end of the hall marked 3DA. Evelyn steadied her breath and knocked twice.

A man with a ginger-blond ponytail opened the door. He was maybe forty, handsome, with a slightly broken nose and a broad chin covered in a thin layer of stubble. He was also about a foot and a half shorter than Evelyn.

“Are you Varric Tethras?” Evelyn asked.

“The one and only,” he said.

“I didn’t know you were a—” Evelyn cleared her throat.

“Dwarf?”

“Right. Dwarf. That’s not offensive, right?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“Oh. Great. I thought you were maybe testing me or something.”

“Testing you?”

“You know. For racism.” She could feel her hands shaking. She clamped them to her side. “I’m sorry. I’m really nervous and I’ve never met a dwarf before.”

Varric chuckled. “All right, well, I’ll let you in before you say anything even more offensive.”

He opened the door wide and Evelyn followed him in, cursing her stupidity.

“It’s a bit of a mess right now,” he said over his shoulder. “Curly usually keeps the place clean, but he’s been working nonstop, which means Sera’s had the run of the place. By the way, watch your feet. She sometimes leaves little traps behind for us to find.”

“Is Sera your dog?” Evelyn asked politely.

That got a massive laugh from the dwarf. “No, but I’ll tell her you asked that. This way. I think the kitchen’s in decent shape.” He led her into a small, cozy kitchen with maroon walls and a wooden table. “Did you bring the application?” he asked.

“Yes.” Evelyn handed him the stapled forms. “I’m sorry, it’s not quite finished. I didn’t have time to fill it out completely.”

Varric waved that aside. “It’s just a formality. And, Andraste’s ass, it’s eight pages long! I’d be worried if you _did_ have time to fill it out.” He took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and started skimming through the pages. “Where are you from, Evelyn?”

“The Free Marches. Ostwick.”

“No kidding!” He looked up with a smile. "I’m a Marcher. Kirkwall, born and raised. What part of Ostwick? I’ve got a friend who works on the docks there—smuggling, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Oh, uh, near Markham. I was pretty sheltered, though. Stayed with my parents for most of my life.”

“That why you’ve never met a dwarf?”

“Yeah.” Evelyn laughed nervously. “Sorry again about that.”

“And why you have no references?” Varric looked at her skeptically over his glasses. Her pulse quickened.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “I’m not really in touch with anyone from back home. My family and I are… not on the best of terms.”

“I can understand that, believe me.” Varric leaned back and looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you plan on staying in the Dales long?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t know. She hoped it would be a few months, at least; she feared it would be much less.

He watched her for another moment, shrugged, and said, “All right, if you really feel you’re up to living with a fantastically handsome dwarf, a Tevinter egomaniac, an uptight workaholic, and whatever the hell Sera wants to call herself, that’s all I need to hear. You’ve got the room.”

“Really?”

“Really. Welcome to the classiest shithole this side of the Frostback Mountains. You can move in tomorrow, if you’d like.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Just, ah—be a little more careful about your footwear next time.” He smiled wryly.

“Hmm?”

Varric pointed to her shoes. “You tracked blood into the kitchen.”

* * *

The next afternoon she was back. She’d slept in her car and bathed herself with wet wipes—not the cleanest state in which to move into her new building, but it would have to do. She made her way up to Apartment 3DA, a bag in each hand, and knocked once before letting herself in.

A girl with choppy blond hair was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, scrolling idly on her phone. She looked up when Evelyn entered and yelled halfheartedly, “Hey dwarfy, someone’s breaking in!”

Varric came in from the kitchen area, looked at the girl, and sighed. “This is Evelyn. I told you, Sera. She’s taking the back room.”

The girl looked up from her phone and frowned. “Does this mean I have to move my junk out?” She smacked a mouthful of gum as she spoke.

“You were supposed to move your junk out a week ago, so yes.”

She stuck her tongue out at Varric and then looked back at her phone.

Varric shrugged apologetically at Evelyn. “I’m going to make sure the room’s still habitable. Sera, be nice.” He walked off toward the hallway of doors to the left.

Evelyn cleared her throat. “So! Sera, right?”

Sera smacked her gum loudly in response.

“I guess there’s probably a lot of you elves here in the Dales, huh?”

“Who said I was an elf?” the girl shot back.

“Well, I just assumed—because of your ears—”

“Yeah, well, I just assumed you were stupid because of _your_ ears. Bam. Thwack. Shwingggg. How does it feel?” She raised her eyebrows indignantly, then laughed. “Nah, I’m messing with you.” She sat up, moving like a baby deer who hadn’t quite grown into their limbs. “Evelyn, yeah? What made you want to move into this dump? You must be pretty friggin’ desperate.”

“I guess so.”

Sera shrugged. “Well, I s’pose it’ll be nice to have another girl and all that. Just, y’know, see that you don’t mess with my stuff or I’ll put snakes in your drawers. Not joking.”

Her expression confirmed that she was, in fact, not joking.

Varric returned. “Well, Sera left what I’d politely call a heap of shit,” he said. “Not much space for your things.”

“That’s fine, I only brought these two bags,” Evelyn said. She held them up.

“Only two bags?” Sera interjected, aghast. “You a priest or something? Sworn off material things?”

Evelyn clutched her bags tighter. “Something like that.”

“Well, if that’s all you have, then you’re free to move on in.” Varric glanced at his phone. “Ah—you know what, I’m going to have to step out. Business call. I’ll be back soon.” He walked out the back door.

Sera rolled her eyes after him. “Business call. Right. Bet it’s his looney ex-girlfriend.” She looked at Evelyn with a peculiar expression. “The other guys are at work. You met them yet?”

“No, just Varric.”

“Probably for the best. I’d avoid both of them for as long as possible if I were you. Dorian’s a pompous fop with a head full of crazy. But he’ll grow on you. Probably. And Cullen—well, you’ll know Cullen when you see him. He’s the one with the stick a mile long jammed up his arse.” She mimed the action.

Evelyn glanced around the living room. It was clear that there was a wide spectrum of personalities in the apartment, and although she hadn’t met everyone yet, she was taking a wild guess that the shelf of classic literature didn’t belong to Sera.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

“Down the hall. Third door on the right. Your room’s right across from it. Oh, don’t touch any of Dorian’s hair products, or he’ll go mental—Tevinters. You know how it is.” Sera rolled her eyes.

“Dorian’s from Tevinter?” Evelyn asked.

“Yeah. Creepy, right? Real ‘mwahaha’ type. Evil mustache and everything.”

“So if Dorian’s from Tevinter, is he…you know?” She tried to sound casual.

“Is he what?”

“A mage.”

Sera snickered. “I asked him about that once and he got all huffy at me. ‘Not everyone in Tevinter is a mage, Sera, you’re so ignorant.’ Awful touchy about it. I think his family disowned him or something because he wasn’t born magicky? I dunno. Glad he isn’t though. Would make things real weird.”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said. “I’m glad too.”

The back door opened and Varric came back in. Sera wiggled her eyebrows at him. “How’s Bianca?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Varric said, but he sounded suspiciously defensive. He turned to Evelyn. “How is it? Everything you dreamed?”

Evelyn forced a smile. “And more.”

“You hungry? I can’t cook, but, uh, I think there’s some ram jerky in a cabinet somewhere.”

“I’m all right, thanks. Honestly, I’m pretty tired. I think I’d just like to lie down for a bit.”

Varric nodded. “All right. Just let us know if you need something, all right?”

“And if you see anything moving in there, don’t touch it. Not that there would be,” Sera said quickly, glancing at Varric. “But. Y’know. Just in case.”

* * *

_Heart racing. Head aching. Blood on my hands. And a woman’s face, a woman I know, but she’s different, she’s different,_ I’m _different. No, don’t turn away, don’t turn away, they’re close, they’re right behind, they’re here!_

Evelyn awoke in an unfamiliar bed, gasping for air. She had dreamt of something dark and heavy, but the dream faded away before she could remember exactly what it was. She sat up. Skyhold Tower, she reminded herself. Apartment 3DA. She was safe.

And the clock on the wall read 6:05. She’d slept for nearly fourteen hours.

Swearing under her breath, Evelyn stumbled to the bathroom across the hall to take a shower. It was funny, she thought as she stood under the pouring water. All the work she’d done to get here, and—what was _here_ , really? A shoddy apartment in the southern Dales? Was this it? Was this her great escape?

Still, a real shower was a welcome change. And she hoped whoever owned the citrus and embrium body wash wouldn’t mind her using it, because it smelled heavenly.

After getting dressed and pulling her hair up, she headed to the kitchen. She didn’t expect anyone else to be awake at this hour, but there was a man with curly blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses already sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading from a thick file. He didn’t seem to notice Evelyn enter.

“Hi,” she said after a moment.

The man jumped slightly, then cleared his throat. “Hi. Sorry. I, ah—Varric told me you moved in yesterday. Evelyn, right?”

“Yeah. And you’re—?”

“Cullen.”

“Right,” Evelyn said. She smiled. “The one with a stick a mile long up his arse.”

He sighed. “I see you already met Sera. Speaking of which—” He glanced at his watch. “She’ll probably be in here any minute.”

“Is everyone here an early riser, then?” Evelyn asked, pouring herself some coffee from the machine in the corner.

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “Early?”

Right on cue, Sera barged in. “What a day, right? Oh, hi, Evelyn.”

“Have you been up all night?” Evelyn asked.

Sera didn’t answer. She poured herself a coffee—four creams and six sugars. Evelyn watched her quietly, and finally said, “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Sera, but…do you have a job?”

Sera snorted and crossed her arms defensively. “I’m a student, all right? At the University of Orlais.”

“For the last six years,” Cullen muttered.

“I’m getting my generals done, arsehole.” Sera threw a sugar packet at Cullen and then turned to Evelyn with a grin. “Right, back to your exclusive tour of apartment 3DA. Today’s stop: the family tree. So, Varric’s like our dad, yeah? He mostly just sits in his room and talks to his typewriter, but he gives us free drinks at his bar. Dorian’s like our sarcastic Tevinter cousin who lives off red wine and mustache wax. And Cullen’s like our bitchy mother-in-law who won’t let you use her good china. Which makes you…” Sera paused thoughtfully. “The surprise baby. The unfortunate result of a broken condom.”

“And who are you in this family tree?” Evelyn asked.

“I’m the one who punched the hole in the condom, baby,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Right, let’s talk cabinet space. There’s only four cabinets, but you can share with me.” She opened up the cabinet to the far left, which was marked “SERA’S! KEEP OUT, FUCKERS!” and adorned with drawings of bees and cartoon penises. The shelves were empty except for a half-empty bottle of Mackay’s Single Malt and two packets of fruit snacks. Sera cheerfully pulled out both packets and offered one to Evelyn.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Sera shrugged and sat up on the counter, popping fruit snacks into her mouth. “By the way, feel free to leave your rubbish out. Cullen will clean it up.”

“I will _not._ ”

“He will.” Sera threw her empty plastic packet onto the ground. “Sometimes we eat together. Cullen cooks, usually. Dorian does too, but he doesn’t like to share. Not that I want his weird food anyway. What the hell is panzanella, right?”

“I _knew_ you ate my panzanella,” another voice said, sounding annoyed.

Evelyn turned to the doorway and saw a man—fit, handsome, with bronzed skin and a thick black mustache. His dark hair was in small round curlers. He looked at Evelyn with a curious expression. “You’re Evelyn, I presume?”

“Yes. You must be Dorian.”

“That I am. Charmed.” He sniffed haughtily and walked over to the coffee machine. He was wearing a rather flashy set of silken pajamas. “How very considerate of you all to finish off the coffee without brewing more.”

“You would have complained about the way I made it anyway,” Cullen said.

“Yes, but _still_.” Dorian sighed and started a fresh batch. Then he stepped back to examine Evelyn carefully. He had interesting eyes, sort of a dark grey color. “So you’re from the Marches? Dreadful place.”

“This coming from a Tevinter?” Evelyn responded.

Dorian’s lip curled upward. “Touché. You’ve been?”

“Once.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but thankfully, Varric chose that moment to enter with a loud yawn. “Andraste’s tits, since when do we have breakfast at the crack of dawn?” He was wearing a tank top that left little of his veritable forest of chest hair to the imagination.

“Since we decided to get a fifth roommate, evidently,” Dorian said derisively.

Varric pulled a carton of leftovers from the fridge and started eating. “Well, the entire apartment’s here. A rare occasion. Anyone want to make a toast?”

Cullen stood. “I’d like to use this opportunity to make a few announcements about cleanliness.”

“Ah, here we go,” Varric sighed. “The famous Rutherford Rights.”

“These will just be reminders for most of you, but I think we could all use a refresher course. First—”

“Is this about the Trail of Piss incident?” Sera asked. “’Cuz that wasn’t just me. That was a group effort.”

Cullen ignored her. “First, we have a chore wheel on the fridge. Anything on the wheel has to be done, and done _thoroughly_ , top to bottom _._ ”

Sera giggled. “That’s what your mum said.”

Cullen frowned deeper. “Second, any mess you make yourself, you should clean up for yourself. For instance, if Dorian were to spill an entire bottle of red wine, it would be his responsibility to clean it up.”

“That happened once, Cullen,” Dorian said with a wry smile. “You really must learn to move on.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Never mind. I’m going to work.” He pulled on his suitcoat and started to head out.

“Pick me up a present!” Sera yelled after him.

Cullen looked back and sighed. “All right, maybe.” Then he walked out.

“That reminds me,” Evelyn said. “I need a job. Any ideas?”

“Hmm.” Varric chewed slowly. “Sparkles, didn’t you say your job was hiring?”

Dorian glared at him. “No, I did not.”

“Where do you work?” Evelyn asked him.

“The Dale Library and Research Center. But we’re a highly exclusive organization with very specific requirements for our employees. We don’t hire random women from off the street. No offense.”

“None taken,” Evelyn mumbled.

Varric rubbed his stubbled chin. “You know what, I might have something for you. Any allergies to nuts, alcohol, or the lingering scent of urine?”

“No.”

“Then meet me tonight at the Hanged Man. I can text you the address.”

“Oh, I, uh—I don’t actually have a phone.”

“You don’t have a _phone_?” Sera interjected, wrinkling her nose. “Wait. Wait wait waitaminute. Are you, like, from a cult?”

Evelyn forced a laugh. “What kind of a question is that?”

“That’s actually not a bad question,” Dorian said, leaning against the counter. “I was just reading about the spread of the Cult of Andraste. They’ve expanded their reach considerably in the last several years. And they _are_ considerably anti-technology.”

“Are you going to try to sacrifice us?” Sera whispered.

“I’m not from a cult! I just lost my phone during the move.” Evelyn felt her face heating up. She turned quickly to hide it.

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric said, exasperated. “She’s been here less than a day and you two have already accused her of blood sacrifice. At this rate, we’ll be looking for another roommate in two hours.” He turned to Evelyn. “There’s a store just down the road from here where you can pick up a phone. Sera will go with you.”

“Why am I going with her?” Sera protested.

“Because you don’t have a job.”

“Neither do you! You sit at your typewriter and cry all day! ‘Boo hoo, Hawke, boo hoo, Bianca, boo hoo Kirkwall,’ whatever!”

“Boo hoo, I also pay for most of the rent. Go, Sera.”

Sera scowled and then turned to Evelyn. “Right, well, it’s my bedtime, so I’ll meet up with you in eleven hours or so.” And she padded off to her room.

True to her word, Sera slept for most of the day. Varric retreated to his office—he told Evelyn “if you need me, let me know, but don’t need me too much”—and Dorian went to work. Apartment 3DA was silent.

Evelyn took the time to put together her new room. There were piles of Sera’s old things to move out first—fake spiders, whoopee cushions, plastic dragons; a bag of phallic gummies; and an unexplainable number of red kerchiefs. Nothing moved, fortunately, but she kept an eye out.

She turned to her own possessions—all two suitcases full. With a sigh, she started to unpack. Clothes. Shoes. A few books. There was nothing there that wasn’t essential, but somehow it all felt extraneous. There was nothing personal, nothing real. Nothing she had any actual connection to.

She stuffed the clothes back in and closed the suitcases up. What was the point? She wouldn’t be here long. Easier to keep everything together. Easier to slip away.

There was a noise from outside the room. Evelyn poked her head out to see Cullen, who looked even more tired than he had been in the morning. He hummed something to himself as he hung up his coat next to the door.

“Hey,” Evelyn called out.

For the second time that day, he jumped at her voice. “Maker’s breath,” he said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I’m not used to you yet.”

“Sorry.” Evelyn walked toward him. “Are you done with work?”

“Ah—no. No, this is my break. I’m picking up something I forgot.” He cleared his throat. “How’s, uh, the unpacking going?”

“Not bad. I’m making good progress on all two of my suitcases.”

Cullen made his way to the kitchen. “I heard your belongings were sparse. Do you need help getting anything?”

“I think I should be fine. No one needs more than one sock, right?”

Cullen winced. “Maker, I hope you’re joking.”

Evelyn laughed and watched him look through the cabinet marked neatly with ‘CULLEN.’ “What are you looking for?”

“Uh—it’s a box. A green plastic box. I know I left it on the counter, but someone moved it. I have a sneaking suspicion as to whom.” He sighed as he opened a drawer. “I’m glad Sera seems to be treating you a little better than she treats me.”

“Is she really?”

“I’d say so,” he said darkly. “Unless she’s also flushed _your_ work badge down the toilet.”

“Yikes.” Evelyn peered under the table. She started to ask Cullen where he worked, but trailed off when she glanced up, her eye catching a gleam of green plastic wedged in the light fixture. She stood on a chair to reach it. “I think this is yours.”

Cullen shook his head, exasperated. “Sera would have had to stack two chairs together to reach that light. I swear, if she put half the effort toward her studies that she puts toward annoying me, she’d be a doctor by now.” He took the box. “Thanks.”

Up close, he looked exhausted. Truly, deeply exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead, although he was maybe only—what, four years older than Evelyn? What could make a man so tired?

She glanced down at the box. “Is that for your work?”

“Ah, no, it’s—” He turned it slightly and revealed a cartoon of a masked man with a rapier. Evelyn recognized it as the main character from the old _Adventures of the Black Fox_ cartoon she’d grown up watching.

She was unable to keep herself from smiling. “Is that a lunchbox?”

“No, it’s a—” Cullen started to say, and then sighed and admitted, “I should have gotten rid of this thing ages ago. Yes, it’s a lunchbox. It’s convenient. I’ve had it for a long time.”

“ _Adventures of the Black Fox_ , huh?”

“I was a fan of the show,” Cullen said grumpily. “Don’t worry, everyone else has already mocked me plenty. Happy?”

“I’m always happy to meet a fellow Black Fox fan.” Evelyn grinned and quoted: “ _’For those who cannot say it for themselves: en garde!’_ ”

Cullen stared at her for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “En garde,” he agreed. There was a scar on one side of his lip. Evelyn felt her heart beat faster.

And when Cullen went back to work a few minutes later, she returned to her room and sat for a moment before deciding maybe she would unpack her suitcases after all.

By the time Sera woke up that afternoon, Evelyn had familiarized herself with the apartment, taking time to do a load of laundry and make a quick lunch. It really wasn’t a bad place, she thought as she took her second shower of the day. It certainly beat sleeping in a car and bathing with wet wipes.

Sera was waiting for her when she got out of the shower. “Come on,” she said grumpily. “If Varric’s going to make me babysit you or whatever, we might as well get it over with.”

Evelyn dressed quickly and hurried to join Sera, who led the way out of the apartment and toward the center of town. The elf girl walked quickly, her thin legs pumping fiercely down the street. Evelyn struggled to keep up.

“You sound like you’re from Ferelden,” Evelyn said. “How did you end up here?”

Sera shrugged. “Bad luck, I guess. Like you.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Don’t like questions. No one likes questions. Notice how I’m not asking you questions? Yeah.”

Evelyn considered that. “I appreciate that.”

“I know, right? Come on.”

The store in question was a small tech outlet called Trinkets, staffed mostly by bored-looking dwarves. Sera immediately ran off toward the video game section—“Be back later, maybe,” she yelled—leaving Evelyn to choose a phone on her own. After looking through seemingly endless options—when did technology get so complicated?—she ended up buying one of the cheapest models: a thick rectangle with a basic plan and limited storage space. It was probably ancient, but Evelyn didn’t care. She didn’t intend to keep it long, anyway.

A dwarf in a red polo shirt helped her set it up. “It’s fairly straightforward,” he said. “Not much of a technology person?”

“Not exactly,” Evelyn said.

“Well, it’s not too difficult. All you have to do is tap this button…”

Sera appeared from behind the dwarf and wrinkled her nose. “Friggin’ Andraste, look at that brick! What is this, the Blessed Age?”

“It’s the only one I can afford right now,” Evelyn replied. “Besides, it’s not like I need it for much. I don’t even have anyone to call.”

Sera grabbed it from the dwarf and typed something in. Snickered a little. Then handed it to Evelyn. “There you go,” she said. “I’ll block you if you send me anything serious or stupid, though, so. Tread lightly and all that.”

Evelyn looked at the screen. She now had one contact: 🐝🍆🖕

“Thanks, Sera, that’s very generous. I think.”

“It is. And in exchange for my kindness…buy me a drink?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Sera, it’s 4 pm.”

“I didn’t say alcohol! Unless you’re offering?”

“Coffee. Cheap coffee, I’m broke.”

“Deal.”

They sat on a park bench, drinking their (cheap) coffee. It was a cold day, but the sun was setting over the mountains and the birds were flying above them. There was a strange beauty to it; a kind of freedom. Half-freedom, at least.

“So.” Evelyn stirred her coffee. “You’re a student.”

“Yeah, and?” Sera sipped her drink loudly.

“And you’re not at school.”

“Well, I don’t have classes on Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. Or Monday. Or—”

“Or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday, got it.”

“Let me finish. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Thursdays, though? I have economics, computer science, and sociology.”

Evelyn laughed. “Right. So can I ask how you pay rent?”

Sera winked. “You’ll find out sometime. Maybe. If you decide to stick around.”

“Ah. Sleeping with the landlord. I get it. Does he do threesomes?”

Sera snorted. “Yeah, funny. That’s funny. Oh, funny story about our last landlord—total nutso. He got arrested for dealing in some kind of magical whatsit, Tevinter artifacts or something, I dunno. Anyway, Cullen walked in on landlord guy messing with that magical junk and freaked out, because Cullen’s a templar—”

Evelyn felt the blood leave her face. “Cullen’s a templar?”

“Used to be, if you want to get all technical-like. He resigned last year and now he’s just a regular cop or whatever. But he’s still a templar at heart. I mean, look at him. You just know he recites the Chant of Light when he does it.” Sera lowered her voice and made a thrusting motion with her hips. “’Yeah, baby! ‘In your heart shall burn an eternal flame!’”

Evelyn turned away, feeling sick. Cullen was a templar. She should have known.

“Anyway, where was I? Doesn’t matter. Basically, the moral of the story is don’t get all messed up with magicky stuff in front of a templar. Not that hard. Hey, you all right there?” Sera punched her arm. “Sorry. I made you think about Cullen having sex. It’s a disturbing mental picture, I know.”

She forced herself to laugh. “No, I’m fine. Sorry. Just distracted. We should probably go meet up with Varric, right?”

The Hanged Man was just a few blocks from Skyhold Tower. It looked quaint, from a distance—the paint on the door was chipped and the neon sign was only half lit, leaving the letters “HAN D MA.” It had a rustic sort of charm, Evelyn told herself optimistically. That was, until she got close enough to smell it.

“Wow,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “What died here?”

“Varric’s hopes and dreams,” Sera said with a snort. “Listen, I’ve got to set up some tricks before Cullen gets back from work. You’ll be good to find your way, yeah?”

“I think so. Be nice to Cullen.”

“Not likely. Lates!” Sera ran off.

Evelyn opened the door—Maker’s ass, it smelled even worse inside. The seating area was small and badly lit, but there was some interesting artwork on the paneled wooden walls. A pity that the glass was so badly smudged, the pictures could hardly be seen.

Varric was sitting at the bar reading a book entitled _Caste Away._ When he saw Evelyn, he raised out his hands in welcome. “The Hanged Man! What do you think?”

“It’s great! I love it! It’s really…” She faltered. “Disgusting. It’s disgusting.”

He laughed. “Glad to know you’re honest. Let me get you a drink. Flissa—two ales.”

Evelyn took a seat next to him. “You own this place?”

“My friend Hawke owns most of it, but I chipped in. The property was cheap because of the whole nug infestation thing. And I needed a taste of home.” He handed her a mug of ale. “Drink up.”

Evelyn took a sip and immediately regretted it. “Does home taste like dog piss?”

“Yep. That’s Kirkwall for you.” Varric grinned. “You have any serving experience, Evelyn?”

“No.”

“You know how to tell a drunk man to fuck off?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should be perfectly qualified.” He turned to the red-haired woman at the bar. “Flissa, this is Evelyn. She’s our new server.”

Flissa looked surprised. “No interview?”

“Did I interview _you_ , Flissa?”

She considered that and nodded. “That’s fair. Nice to meet you, Evelyn.”

For the next hour, Varric and Flissa led her through the operation of the bar. Take orders. Clean up. Throw the rowdy drunks out on their asses. Not too difficult, all things considered. And not too different from what Evelyn had spent most of her life doing.

“Here,” Flissa said, tossing her a rag. “We’re opening in twenty minutes. See if you can get that big stain off the floor.”

Evelyn looked at the stain in question and actively restrained her gag reflex. “Sure thing.” And, against all her better judgment, she knelt down and got to work.

As she scrubbed, her mind wandered to where she had been a month ago. Where had she pictured herself? Certainly not wiping floors in a smelly bar. It was worth it, she reminded herself. It was worth it to be here, to be free—as much as she could ever be free, that was. The thought made her neck prickle with discomfort. Her hands felt too shaky, too cold—no, too warm. Focus. Don’t break focus.

Realizing Varric was watching her, she stood up and took a long breath. A hand fell on her shoulder, its weight heavy and comforting. Varric spoke quietly. “Listen, I know this is probably a weird transition for you. I know you’re running from something, and I also know better than to ask. Just stay safe, all right, kid?”

Evelyn nodded, throat tight.

“Good. Also, if anyone who looks like a lawyer asks, the fact that there’s also a bar in Kirkwall named The Hanged Man is purely coincidental.” He patted her shoulder and walked off.

* * *

By the time Evelyn returned to Apartment 3DA late that night, she was exhausted. Her head was aching, her back was oddly sweaty, and she was certain that everything she was wearing now reeked of stale beer. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep in complete silence.

Of course, she had forgotten that she had roommates now. Loud roommates, at that.

When she opened the door, Dorian was yelling. “Sera, that is categorically untrue!”

“You think I don’t know about people?” Sera yelled back. “I might not know about all that stupid shite you talk about, but I know people!”

Dorian and Sera were standing on opposite ends of the living room, glaring daggers at each other. Varric was standing on the sidelines, sipping a can of Cabot’s Hard Lemonade. And Cullen was on the couch, his arms crossed and his expression pained.

“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked.

“Just a little friendly disagreement,” Dorian said, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Evelyn, who was the mother of Empress Celene?”

“I can honestly tell you I have no idea.”

“It’s Clarisse de Montfort!” Sera yelled.

“No, it’s Catrin of Hossberg!” Dorian argued.

“Maker’s breath, what does it matter?” asked Cullen wearily.

Cullen. Cullen with the scar on his lip. Cullen the templar. He met Evelyn’s eyes and smiled a little. She didn’t smile back.

“I didn’t know you knew Orlesian history, Sera,” Evelyn said, looking away from Cullen.

“I do!” Sera said defensively. “Well. A bit. More than this prig does.”

“I was taught in the finest schools in Tevinter,” Dorian said haughtily. “I have extensive knowledge of Orlesian politics. I promise you, it’s Catrin of Hossberg.”

“Andraste’s tits, you two, just look it up,” Varric said, exasperated.

“Not yet.” Dorian folded his arms. “Say it, Sera. I was right.”

“No you weren’t. You weren’t!” Sera raised her arms up in frustration. “Andraste’s friggin’ arse, I’m so sick of you acting like you know everything! I’m looking it up. I know I’m right!”

Evelyn winced. Her headache was getting worse and worse. “Dorian, just apologize to her. It doesn’t matter.”

“With all due respect, Evelyn, you’ve only been here for one day,” Dorian told her coldly. Then he added, “Oh, and I know you were the one who used my citrus and embrium body wash. You owe me five royals. Plus shipping.”

Sera looked up from her phone with a triumphant shout. “I was right! You Tevinter smartass, I was right!”

“Like hell you were!” Dorian rushed over and grabbed her phone. “Let me see that. It can’t possibly be—”

“It is!” Sera crowed. “Oh, this is _good._ I’m smarter than Dorian!”

“You are _not._ ” He handed her phone back to her angrily. “You may have been right this one time, but make no mistake, you are a common thief with no class and no education—”

“Oh, can you all please _shut up_?” The words slipped out of Evelyn’s mouth, her voice much louder than she meant to. Her head was spinning and her hands were hot and her heart was too fast and—

The others were staring at her.

“Bloody hell, Evelyn,” Sera said in a hushed voice. “We didn’t mean it. We just fight like this sometimes. It’s not a big thing.”

Evelyn shook her head. She felt like she was going to throw up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

And she ran into her room and closed the door behind her. Maker, that was close. She’d almost lost it for a moment there. And Cullen was a templar. Could he see it on her? Smell it?

The electricity ran up the lengths of her fingers. She savored the feeling, the quiet rush of forbidden magic. It had never felt quite this thrilling in the Circle, when supervised and chained and controlled. Now it was delicious, beautiful, enthralling. Her skin hadn’t felt so alive in so long—her veins were on fire, aching to be used—

There was a knock on the door. Evelyn panicked, jammed her hand in her pocket, and yelped as her fingers burned a hole straight through the fabric. “Don’t come in!” she yelled. “I’m…naked!”

There was a long silence, then Varric’s voice replied, “You know, on second thought, I’ll leave you be.”

“No, no—” Evelyn shook her hands out, forcing the magic to dispel. “No, just give me a second.” She pulled on a pair of pajama pants to cover her burned pockets, then stumbled over to open the door.

Varric looked at her, bemused. “You all right there, kid?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Um—come on in.”

She sat down on the bed. Varric took a few steps closer, sniffing. “Is something burning?”

Evelyn clamped her hands together and forced a laugh. “Burning? Here? All that time at the Hanged Man must have ruined your sense of smell, Varric.”

He shrugged. “You know, I get that a lot.”

Evelyn pulled her knees up to her chest. The rush of the magic was wearing off, and now all she felt was deeply, deeply tired. “Why have you been so nice to me?” she asked softly. “You gave me the room. You gave me a job. Why?”

Varric leaned against the wall and chuckled. “I’m going to tell you a story, kid. I have an old friend named—let’s call her Sparrow. Now, she had agreed to help out a cop she knew, who we’ll call—oh, I don’t know, Maveline. The city was having a little trouble with some smugglers, so Sparrow and Maveline brought along the ace up their sleeve, a heartbreakingly rugged dwarf with a roguish twinkle in his eye—”

“Is that you?”

“Now, what makes you think that? — Anyway, this devilishly handsome creature with the _very_ sexy chest hair was supposed to help the two of them catch the smugglers at the docks. So the three of them waited there for the criminals to show. Hours passed. Nothing happened. Not a smuggler in sight. But Sparrow refused to leave, so the dwarf stayed with her. He trusted his friend.”

“Varric, where is this going?”

“I’m getting there! — After hours of waiting, Maveline finally gave up and went home. That’s when Sparrow stood up and signaled to the buildings around the docks. The smugglers came out in droves—most of them elves, a lot of them just kids. And they weren’t hardened criminals. They were just people, trying to get by. So Sparrow took their goods, paid them handsomely, and sent them off. Then she dumped the goods in the trash. Turns out she had been leading this so-called ‘smuggling ring’ for weeks. And that was her way of cleaning up the city. It was very different from how Maveline would have done it, but that was the way Sparrow worked.”

Evelyn sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t get it.”

Varric patted her on the shoulder. “Welcome home, kid.” And he walked out, closing the door behind him.

She shook her head. What an absolute nutcase he was. No, all of them—Varric, Sera, Dorian, Cullen. How had that happened? She was an apostate on the run, and somehow she was the most normal one among them. But they were good people. She smiled to herself. That was as odd as anything else. They were truly good people.

Her smile fell as the guilt hit her all at once. She would have to go out and apologize to them for losing it earlier. More importantly, she had to make sure it never happened again. There was more than one life in danger here.

Welcome home, Varric had said. _Home._

It could be, she thought to herself. Why not? It could be.

But she knew it couldn’t last for long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I originally conceived this piece as a silly sitcom parody, but found it developing into something much darker and more complex. So here it is—mood whiplash, ahoy!
> 
> I’m trying to put these chapters/”episodes” out pretty quickly, so subscribe for more!


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